


50 Ways to Say Goodbye (Anxceit)

by mt_reade



Series: Sanders Sides Short Stories! [15]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Angst, Break Up, Break Up Talk, Deceit | Janus Sanders Angst, Established Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders, I don't really know how to tag this one, M/M, Songfic, This is kind of a song fic, kind of not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:54:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24612616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mt_reade/pseuds/mt_reade
Summary: Virgil’s fingers tighten and loosen rapidly and repeatedly over the now sweat-slicked plastic of the extendable handle on his suitcase.“It’s for the best, you know.”“You always say that.”
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Deceit | Janus Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders
Series: Sanders Sides Short Stories! [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1721833
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36





	50 Ways to Say Goodbye (Anxceit)

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by the song "50 Ways to Say Goodbye" by Train!

“So that’s it, then?”

Virgil tenses with the electric panic that courses down his spine. His shoulders stiffen to stone, and his hand clenches tighter around the handle of his suitcase. The other hand is extended forward, mere inches from wrapping around the doorknob. The front door is so close, and Virgil had thought for a split second that he might be home free. But, of course, a soft voice had come from behind him, stopping him in his tracks. 

“You’re just going to leave?” The voice asks. Virgil doesn’t have to look behind him to know who it belongs to.

“I didn’t know you were still awake.” Virgil says, still rooted in place, frozen like a statue, paralyzed mid-motion. His hand hangs pathetically away from his body, but his face is hardset.

The fumes left over from their fight, the smoke from the fire of anger and harsh words, swirls between them like danger reincarnated. It pushes up against Virgil’s back as tendrils of heat and heartbreak. He takes his time to square his shoulders, and reground himself on his feet, before he turns around slowly. The living room is darkened, but there’s a single small lamp that’s illuminated on a corner table to the left of the long black leather couch against the far wall. Janus sits beside it, a book in one hand, and a patient cup of what’s presumably tea in the other. He has one leg crossed over the second, and his expression is unreadable, but most definitely unsurprised. Has he been waiting for him?

The fire is still in their eyes, glinting and dancing and focused. But the hurt is nestled in the tightened corners of their mouths. Virgil’s fingers tighten and loosen rapidly and repeatedly over the now sweat-slicked plastic of the extendable handle on his suitcase. 

“It’s for the best, you know.”

“You always say that.” Janus says, and his tone sounds like he should roll his eyes right then. But he doesn’t. His stare is cold and set on Virgil. They stand like that for a long moment, that feels like a standoffish eternity. With Virgil at the door, and Janus watching him. However, eventually, Janus sighs. “I know that we argue, Virgil. I know that we shout, and that we often get caught up in our own oversized heads. I don’t mind taking the high road--”

“Jan, we can’t keep going like this.” Virgil says, shaking his head. “I’m doing this for you.”

“Oh, don’t even start.” Janus says, cool facade breaking, as he tosses his book aside. The teacup is slammed onto the corner table. “ _ It’s not you, it’s me.”  _ He says, tone mocking. “That’s bullshit. If you’re going to walk out, you could at the very least own it.” 

Silence. 

“So go on, leave.” Janus says, collecting himself somewhat, and he flicks his wrist dismissively. But, his expression is exacting. One eyebrow is flirted upwards, arched and challenging. It’s like he’s daring Virgil to do it. “But know that if you walk out that door right now, you can’t come back.” He reaches for his tea once more, and takes a long, languid sip of the steaming liquid, never taking his eyes off of Virgil. 

Virgil’s heart lurches in his chest, slamming against his chest violently, knocking the breath from his lungs. 

Janus continues, “You have to commit your choice. If you leave, you’re dead to me, and I don’t ever want you to show face around here again.” His dramatics chill Virgil to his core. 

“That’s a bit coldhearted, don’t you think?” Virgil says, and his whole body simply refuses to breathe.

“ _ That’s  _ coldhearted?” Janus uncrosses his legs, and leans forward predatorily. His eyes narrow and his free hand prowls forward to grip the edge of the coffee table like a vice. “ _ You _ were going to leave in the middle of the night without saying goodbye, and I doubt that you had any intention of returning.”

Virgil’s eyes flicker downwards to his feet in shame. “I’m no good at goodbyes.” Virgil stands opposing the other for a moment, a whole world between them. 

Janus’ laugh holds no warmth. “We could have lived a thousand lives together, you know.” He says, as Virgil turns away. “We could have made this work. But you don’t want to, do you? You never have.”

“ _ That’s not true. _ ” Virgil hisses, pulling open the front door. “I do want to. Or, I did. I tried for years. It’s just not meant to be. It’s better this way.”

“Don’t play the hero, Virgil.”

“I’m  _ not.” _

“Really?” Janus scoffs, irritably. The flames of vexation lick up his throat like bile, hot and tempered. His teeth grind with the tensing of his jaw, and Janus becomes sharp and angular. His body is all straight lines and perpendicular angles. “What am I supposed to tell the others, hm?” 

Virgil blinks. Is this really what Janus is worried about right now? Virgil closes his eyes for a moment, throwing out a small, flippant gesture led by the back of his hand. “Whatever you want, I don’t know.”

“That you died? That you went down in an airplane, or fell and no one caught you, that you danced to death at an east-side night club?” Janus says from behind him, louder and harsher. “I’m all out of lies, Virgil.”

Virgil doesn’t respond, just pulls on his shoes while biting his tongue.

“And what about the ring?” Janus’ voice wavers, bitter and broken. 

Virgil falters, and looks down at his left hand. It’s still wrapped around the handle of his bag. The silver of the engagement ring on his heart-strung finger glints in the wafting porchlight that bathes the outside that waits for him. He let’s go of the suitcase, and slowly removes the ring. He sets it on a ledge by the door, next to where Janus leaves his hat. “Return it.”

Janus doesn’t reply. Virgil doesn’t even hear him move. 

Virgil picks up his suitcase that holds all of his belongings again. Or, almost all of them. He knows that he’d left the framed photograph of him and Janus upstairs. He looks over his shoulder, casting the words backwards towards the other. “You were my everything, Jay.” 

“Sure, I was.” Janus says quietly, leaning back in his seat, and taking another drink from his tea. His gaze is averted, glare aimed anywhere but at Virgil. “You’ve made that so  _ abundantly  _ clear.”

“Janus--”

“He got eaten by a lion, drowned in the ocean, got run over by his own stupid purple Toyota Scion.” Janus recites under his breath. 

Virgil steps outside, and Janus hears the wheels of his suitcase hit the wooden planks of the porch. He winces, and can’t bring himself to look at the sight of his shattered heart framed in the doorway, in the shape of a young man in a patchwork hoodie. “So that’s the end of it?” Janus asks, voice diminished to a whisper. “You have nothing to say?” 

“I’m out of ways to say goodbye.” Virgil admits, before he shuts the door behind him, and all that’s left of him is a framed picture on the nightstand upstairs. 


End file.
